Loss for Words
by CherryBerryB
Summary: A man who hates his brother is not a brother at all. NOT SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello CSI and/or Nick and/or Greg fans! I hope you're ready for a whole story of whump cuz that's what I hope to provide!**

**Just to remind you again, this is absolutely NOT Nick/Greg slash, just friendship 8)**

**PS-I AM A BETA! If there are any people out there who need a beta, PLZ PM ME!**

**PPS-this will probably be the longest A/N in this story cuz just about everyone hates these things**

**Disclaimer: I am not the owner of CSI. Because (as it's been said a million, BAZILLION times before me) if I did, I wouldn't be on fanfiction.**

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_**Late August, 2002**_

Nick hadn't talked to nor seen his one male sibling in ages. Jared and Nick were never really that close of brothers, mainly because they were on opposite ends of the line of age, and the last time they had even talked to each other would have probably been the Stokes family reunion of '91. But there he was, standing at Nick's door with a six pack and ready for brotherly bonding over a football game. Nick had purposefully taken the night off when Jared called him two weeks ago.

"So," Nick began at the commercials. "What have you been doing all this time?"

Jared took a swig of beer. "Well, I stay around Dallas. I'm unemployed at the moment, so I've mostly just been working odd jobs here and there. What about you? You're still with CSI, right? It's all dad talks about."

Nick shifted slightly in his chair. "Well, yeah. I've been with 'em for, what, six years now?"

"Sounds about right," Jared chuckled, leaning back into the couch. "I've heard it's been rough these last few, huh."

Nick moved again and laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, you could say that. I'm, uh, gonna go get some chips from the kitchen. You want any specific kind?"

"Naw, I'm good."

Nick got up and gratefully started his trek to the kitchen. It seemed that a lot had changed from when they were kids. His once spunky, laughing, brown-haired brother had turned into a salt-and-peppered man that had a strange glint in eye. Awkward as it was, he was looking for reprieve, and chips were the perfect excuse on football night.

_Wham! _Nick felt a punch to the back of the head and was knocked off balance, staggering away to the left.

He was about to turn around, but was cut off by another strike, this one to the front of the shoulder. By this time Nick was out of breath and in complete disbelief. Why any sort of person want to surprise their kin with a fight was beyond him, but he did know that he was in trouble when he was knocked over after a blow to the gut. Jared quickly jumped on top of him, knife pulled from a back pocket and glinting in the living room light.

"Wha-what are you doing," Nick croaked.

Jared laughed evilly. "You're the CSI. What does it look like I'm doing?" And took the plunge into his brother's stomach.

Nick groaned. There was no way this was happening. He managed to get enough breath to whisper another word. "Why?"

Jared narrowed his eyes, stabbed him again and twisted, making Nick grunt in pain. He didn't remove the blade. "You took everything I lived for the day you were born. You had everything you wanted, whenever you wanted. If I asked the folks for anything more than a couple bucks, they'd tell me that they were saving up for your collage education, and then tell me to get a job."

Nick still couldn't believe it. His brother had to be some kind of psychopath. Jared hated every fiber of his being, and Nick was going to die on his own floor if he didn't do something.

The lunatic previously mentioned finally slid the knife out. Taking his time, Jared slowly wiped it off on his shirt and got up. He seemed satisfied in the way that Nick was incapacitated. As he was getting up, however, Nick was reminded about the cell phone in his pocket.

"I think I might just let you stay there until your friends find ya. You obviously took the night off, which will give you plenty of time to bleed out before your shift tomorrow."

It was true. The growing pool of blood underneath the younger Stokes was getting pretty big. If somebody didn't put any pressure on his wound soon, Nick wasn't going to make it past the hour.

Jared leisurely walked to the kitchen. He had this all planned out. He would go to his hotel in a few minutes, get his bags, and fly to Mexico tonight. Simple and pretty much fool proof. Jared thought about his younger brother in the room over. Did he feel any remorse for Nick? They say it's good to face emotional trauma head on to avoid any problems later in life*… Well, he certainly wasn't feeling bad about anything. In fact, he was happier than he'd been in a while. Nick was about to be out of his hair for good. He wouldn't have to listen to his parents doting on Nick anymore. It really made Jared feel bad for himself. Nick didn't even want any praise. To the Jared's pleasure, he didn't miss the look of discomfort on his younger brother's face. And on top of everything that had happened, Nick seemed like a magnet for trouble. It was best if he were dead.

Back in the living room, Nick was cautiously moving his hand to his pocket. The problem was, if Jared decided to turn around right then, it would be disastrous. No one whose just been stabbed would want to move their hand; they'd want to be as still as possible as it was extremely painful. The only reason would be if it could save their life, which is exactly what Nick was doing. If Jared saw him, he'd be finished for sure. But if the man on the floor could just send a text to Catherine, he could probably make it through this.

Getting his phone out of his pocket was an arduous task. He was shaking so badly because of the blood loss; it was difficult to stay under control. He only sent one word to the elder CSI; "HELP".

* * *

Catherine had been doing a bit of paperwork when her phone buzzed. Looking at the sender, she smiled and shook her head. _He's supposed to be off today. _When she opened the message, though, she froze. "GRISSOM! GET IN HERE!"

Grissom was slightly annoyed with Catherine. She had startled him while he was doing an important experiment with a maggot; his hand had slipped and now the maggot was finished. "What's wrong Catherine," he said with an exasperated sigh when he came into her office.

"It's Nick. He took the night off and then sent me this text," She showed him her phone and Grissom paled. "And I think we should go and then call Brass on the way the way there."

Grissom nodded, still white. He had hoped that Nigel Crane would have been the most of Nick's problems.

* * *

Brass peeked into Nick's house from the window. He really felt for the kid. Nick had already been stalked and now from the looks of it he'd just gotten stabbed.

Brass turned to his men. "Okay, we go in silently. Look everywhere. We need to make sure the guy who did this isn't still in the house."

The balding man then looked toward the CSIs who were down the driveway, gesturing to them to stay put and call the ambulance. Boy, did they look agitated. Understandably so, and Brass couldn't argue that he wasn't a little nervous himself.

"Okay, let's move."

* * *

Nick was barely coherent enough to hear the door open and multiple feet slip through. _Oops. I must have forgotten to lock the door. Oh well. _His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. Nick didn't even know how he had managed to stay awake this long…wait, how long had it been? It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, because otherwise Jared would have left by now. It wouldn't be smart to stay at the house for more than half an hour, and his brother knew that.

It definitely didn't feel like ten minutes, though; the pain was so overwhelming that time seemed to loiter along, making seconds feel like minutes and minutes like hours. Inwardly he sighed. He really didn't like this situation.

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*this concept was taken from the sixth book of Artemis Fowl. Said by Dr. Kronski.**

**OKAY! I hope you guys liked this chapter cuz I already have the next one and hope to send it out into cyberspace soon. But, because I didn't write a cliffhanger, I don't expect to get many reviews (I hope you guys can prove me wrong by the way). Anywho (anyhoo?), this is CherryBerryB, signing off 8)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm back again! Sorry to all (especially you **_Queen S of Randomness**, because I lied. Oops)**_**. I was planning to post yesterday, but I got a little sidetracked. **

**Okay, like I said before, I know that no one likes reading these things, especially if it's a really interesting story. So (because I'm ****remarkably ****egotistic) I will promise to keep things short unless it's important. Got it? **_**Remember**_**, if these A/Ns are long (mine, anyway) **_**MAKE SURE YOU READ THEM!**_** Thank you very much 8)**

**PS-I'm sorry if Warrick is a little OOC. If you ask me, he's kinda hard to write**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed, disclaimed, disclaimed. I officially, that is, for the record, disclaim CSI as my own.**

Catherine, Grissom, Warrick, and Sarah all stood outside of Nick's house, worry etched on their faces. Catherine and Grissom were talking quietly to each other, Warrick was beginning to think that he should just rush in there, and Sarah was beginning to think that Warrick should be physically restrained.

"Come on, guys. Nick needs help! Why can't we just screw Brass's orders and go in. Are we just going to wait around for the ambulance to show up, or what," Warrick complained.

Grissom glanced over at him. "Yes, we are. We have no idea what kind of state Nick is in, and if he's being held by the offender, we might just make things worse. Right now, it'd be better to listen to Brass this time. Try to be patient."

Warrick groaned. It was impossible to be patient, not when his best friend was stuck inside his own home, being restrained or worse. On top of that, Nick had only recovered from falling out of window a few months ago. This wasn't good.

There were faint siren sounds in the background. It wouldn't be long before the ambulance was upon them, and it shouldn't be long before Nick was out of there…at least that's what the team hoped.

…

_A few minutes earlier…_

Brass took a fleeting look at Nick. He seemed a whole lot worse in person, even if the only thing separating them before was a window and some blinds. He was extremely pale and the large crimson stain below him didn't seem real. Brass really started to get angry at the person who did this.

The homicide detective slowly made his way to the kitchen, gun outstretched. He quickly jumped in front of the doorway, spying a man with his back facing Brass. "Okay, I'm only gonna say this once; turn around and put your hands on your head." The gray-haired man tensed, and for a moment Brass thought that he might pull something, but he acceded and gradually put his hands on his head and turned around. "Let's go, buddy," Brass went up to him and put the handcuffs around the so-far unnamed man, then led him out.

…

Nick couldn't hear anything anymore, only the sound of his rasping breath. He didn't even hear the paramedics come in, but he felt them. Their hands lifting him onto the gurney and buckling him in. Rolling him outside and into the ambulance. Pressing down on his chest and stomach and sticking in the IV. And finally, the sedative channeling through his veins. He could feel all of it, barely, but it was still felt. That is, until the tranquilizing liquid took effect.

…

Catherine decided to ride with the ambulance while the other three went in the house to process the scene. Catherine didn't understand the attempted killer's motives. Unless there was something that Nick was keeping from them all, it looked a lot like a robbery gone bad. But why a knife? A gun would've been much more efficient. To stay quiet? Could be. Well, whatever the reason, it really wasn't very smart. Maybe that was it; the guy was just plain stupid.

Catherine decided that right now, Nick needed her attention more than some idiot's whims. She looked back down at him and grabbed his hand. _Oh, Nicky. What are we going to do with you?_

...

Grissom was in the living room, still worried about the owner of the house. From the blood pool, it was easy to see that Nick was stabbed rather than shot. The larger the wound, the faster the red liquid flows out of your body.

Grissom was still surveying the more-than-slight red discolouring in the carpet when Warrick yelled that he had found the knife. Walking quicker than usual, Grissom saw him ogling at the offender's weapon in the kitchen and looking sick.

"This has got to be blade that stabbed him. It's the only one with any fresh blood on it." Warrick said in a monotone, still staring.

Grissom was at a bit of a loss for words. Usually there was something he could say at a moment like this, but the case being so personal, there wasn't anything to say. They stood there for a few minutes, silently cursing the piece of metal for its sharp edge and point. Finally, Grissom looked away.

"Okay, Warrick. I'll go get Sara and we'll go back to the lab. I've got enough evidence to put this guy away for attempted homicide." _Or murder, if it turns out that way. _Grissom dismally added to himself.

…

At the police station, Grissom was behind the one-way glass, observing the alleged monster on the other side of the pane.

Brass walked up beside him, revulsion clearly written on his face. There weren't too many things that threw the experienced detective off, but this was definitely one of them. Grissom turned to him, concern wearing his features at Brass's expression.

"I just talked with Sara. He has a record, his fingerprints are all over knife, and we can connect Nick to him." Grissom looked back with a mixture interest and more worry. "Gil, that man in there is Jared Stokes, Nick's brother."

The graveyard shift supervisor dropped his jaw in nihilism. "What?"

Brass just nodded. "Do you want to come in?"

…

**Well. I pushed for it, and I got you THIS! What THIS actually is…that's up to you. But I'd like to know so REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! *Rhyme not intended***


	3. Chapter 3

**What's this I hear? Crazed and obsessed fans screaming for more? Or is that just my overblown ego? Don't you worry, this story won't be only three chapters long…we still haven't gotten any Greg, but he will come soon. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 8)**

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I've said this before. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING AFFILIATED WITH CSI!**

Nick awoke to find blurry figures around him. At first he thought he was hallucinating, but dismissed the idea when the unknown people became Catherine and Warrick. The Texan opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't get a sound out of it.

"Don't worry about talking. The doctor said you throat will be pretty dry for a few hours and they can't get you any water until the tests come back," Catherine said, looking at him pitifully.

Nick mimed for paper and a pen, wanting to communicate but unable to find his voice. Warrick nodded and went to go find some.

Catherine sat down on the bed and Nick just leaned back and closed his eyes. _My own brother._

"You know, Nick," he opened his eyes. "We've got him, and the knife. He's going to go away for a while…"

Nick just closed his eyes again. Catherine didn't understand, and she wouldn't until she found out who his attacker was. _Even then she won't personally understand, she's never been in this situation before. Lucky her._

Catherine sighed. She could tell already tell that answering huge amounts of questions was going to be a difficult task. Just then, Warrick came back with a pen and a pad of paper. He quietly came up to the bed. "Hey, Nick. How you doing?"

Nick looked up again. He reached for the pad of paper and took the pen, writing a message. _Do you know who he is yet?_

Warrick and Catherine looked at each other, and then both shook their heads. Nick just nodded down to the pad.

_I think I'm going to rest now. _The other CSIs nodded and backed out of the room.

…

At the station, Grissom was beginning to get angry. No, not angry. More like increasingly enraged. He really had no idea what would spur someone to murder their own flesh and blood. But this guy was clearly a sadist; there was no other way to explain it. Unluckily for Brass and Grissom, they had to find out why this so-called brother attacked Nick. Which is why they were here, sitting at the interrogation table.

Jared had a malicious smile coating his face. He looked way too smug to know that they had all the evidence they needed to put him in prison.

"So," began Brass, trying not to be sick. "Mr. Jared Stokes. Would you care to explain yourself?"

"I've got nothing to say," his grin got wider, but only diminutively.

"Oh, yeah, sure you do. For one, what were you doing in your younger brother's house, hm? Did you surprise Nick? Or did you just hope to be able to get away with a few of his, eh, _more_ _valuable_ possessions," Brass went on, unmistakably peeved.

"No, no. Nothing like that. He knew I was there."

"So, as I asked before. Explain yourself."

Silence and the smile.

Grissom sighed, almost as if he didn't want to do this to Jared, but this was obviously not the case. "We have definite evidence to support that you tried to murder your younger brother. Can you deny that?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Grissom. I don't know if Nick told ya'll this, but I'm not an educated man."

The supervisor got up and slammed his hands on the table, glaring straight into this perverse demon's eyes.

"Did you, or did you not, stab Nick Stokes," Grissom growled.

"Oh, well. Why didn't you just say that the first time," The smirk on his face was enough to send anyone to an insane asylum.

All Grissom did, though, was get up and walk out of the interrogation room, more pissed off than he had ever been.

Brass watched the CSI march out of the room, practically slamming the door. The detective faced Jared again. "You know what? We don't need a confession. The evidence will speak for you. Get him outta here."

…

The elder Stokes stepped gently into the hospital room, careful as not to wake their youngest. Jillian had tears in her eyes, and Bill's held sorrow as well. Being cautious still disturbed him, though, because he wasn't sleeping. "Hey," he said feebly, opening his eyes.

"Hi, Poncho. How're you feeling," His father asked.

"A little sore I guess. Did someone tell you who…" Nick was cut off by his mother nodding her head sadly. "Oh."

"We just want you to understand, Nick, that we're sorry. If we could've seen or stopped him, we would have," Bill expressed.

"I just have a question," Nick said, slightly hesitant.

"Go on, honey," Jillian encouraged.

"Did Jared ever voice his, uh, resentment towards me?"

Bill and Jillian glanced at each other. "We thought it was normal. You always wanted to follow him around simply because you were younger than him and looked up to him. It didn't seem unusual at all," the judge sighed.

It was Nick's turn to nod. He wasn't satisfied, but he would be fine with that answer for now. "If you guys don't mind, I'm gonna get some sleep," he almost whispered while closing his eyes.

"That's fine Nick. We'll be right here when you wake up."

He only barely heard his mother speak before he dropped into unconsciousness.

…

_**Eight years later…**_

"Come on, Nick. You can't tell me that having a lawyer for a mother and a judge for a father wouldn't bring in some serious cash," Greg pointed out in the passenger's side of the SUV.

"Fine, I'll admit it. But I've heard from around the lab that you used to be quite the little rich boy yourself," Nick grinned, taking a quick look to the right then back to the windshield while he parked.

Greg looked a bit taken aback for a moment, but he covered it up with "Oh, look at that. We're at the crime scene. Come on, we've got an assault to examine," and Greg scooted out the door before Nick could say anything more, so he just smiled and shook his head.

Nick got out of the car, kit in hand and ready for any form of strange. When Catherine told him that there had been a disturbance on the street, he made sure to bring a few extra pairs of gloves. Unfortunately, she failed to mention the lack of police officers, as there were only two. Apparently the government decided that budget cuts were in order.

Greg was already in his zone. He was searching around the blood spatter to see if there had been any mistakes on the offender's part. Nick was on the outskirts of the crime scene, taking pictures of a needle on the street. He was so engrossed in his job; he didn't feel the eyes from the dark truck across the street.

**OH NO, NICK! LOOK OUT! Sigh. He didn't hear me. His loss, your gain :) Review, cuz those make me happy 8)**


	4. Chapter 4

**AHA! I FOUND MY READERS! Or maybe you found me? Ah, no matter. The important thing is that we are all here for the same reason-to watch various CSI characters (namely Nick and Greg) suffer. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts 8)**

**I've decided that I'm going to update once a week. This'll give me more time to write chapters. As I say this, I'm terribly sorry to my faithful readers (well, Queen S of Randomness 016 anyway) that I didn't update on Tuesday, which is what I meant to do, or Thursday, or earlier today, even. O INSOLENT BEINGS I CALL LAZINESS AND PROCRASTINATION! THE FLAMES OF HELL WOULD NOT STAND UP TO THE ETERNAL HEAT OF MY RANCOR FOR YOU BOTH!**

**Disclaimer: don't own it, and not aspiring to.**

If there was ever any one thing that pissed Jared off almost as much as his brother did, it was prison. There was no force strong enough on earth that would make him live in that hole of a cell again. He was happy to be out of there and back to where he could view his brother in a not-so-peaceful mood.

Jared had various journals dedicated to the things he could do to Nick. One whole notebook was allotted to ways to kill him. Built up over ten years, it was impossible to be able to do them all before Nick's body gave out. On top of that, you could only kill someone once, unless you revived them, but that procedure was reserved for those who were worth saving and in Jared's books, Nicholas Stokes was not on that list.

…

The victim was interviewed and then he left, leaving Greg and Nick to stay a little longer, collecting evidence and taking pictures. There was only one policeman now; the other had to leave for another 415. As the always say, Vegas never sleeps.

Nick was just packing up the last piece of evidence when he heard a thump. Looking around, he spotted Greg with his back to him and looking down at something, so he was okay. When he didn't see the officer, though, the Texan began to worry.

Nick was slowly taking out his gun when he felt the arm grab his neck and a pistol to his head. The CSI dropped the gun and cried out, but the choke hold silenced him half way through. Greg still heard him, luckily, and whirled around with surprise covering his face.

That's when the perpetrator spoke. "Make a sound and he dies."

Nick recognized the voice immediately. _No, no, no! It's not Jared. He's in prison. There is no way that's him. You're hallucinating, that's all._ That's what Nick told himself, but he didn't believe it.

"Now," The culprit growled. "Come stand in front of me and we'll all go to my truck. Don't say anything or I'll shoot him in the head."

Greg obeyed fearfully. Looking down with his hands splayed out awkwardly by his legs, he swiftly walked in front of Jared while Nick was dragged along.

"What vehicle are you in," The near silent question from Greg was answered by a point to a black truck. Not flashy and definitely not new.

At the truck, Greg turned around to an elbow in the face which in turn knocked him out. Nick was still being lugged around by his neck and a gun to his head.

Suddenly he was turned around to see the vengeful smile planted on Jared's face. When Nick looked back on this, he thought he would have loved to see the expression on his face if the circumstances were different. "Hello, little brother. Long time, no see."

…

The ride was a long one, especially bound on the floor of the truck. It gave Nick time to think, though. Not that he really wanted to. _I thought Jared was in prison. What did the judge say again? Wasn't it eight years? Has it really been eight years? I guess it has. Why didn't he just kill me? He probably wants an up-close-and-personal kill, and you can't do that with witnesses .Or torture? What about Greg? Why take him? Maybe for leverage…_

Nick was definitely worried, to say the least. Greg was going to get hurt because he had to be used as "leverage", and there was not one thing he could do about it. Not a thing at all. Chances are, there wasn't going to be salvation this time. No, their corpses were going to be found years later buried deep in the desert, if at all.

A silent tear rolled down his cheek and Nick quickly wiped it off his face. It wouldn't do for Jared to see it; something like that might bring an unwanted response. Violence was the man's forte and he'd find any excuse to punch someone. _Did _I _really make him that angry?_

All of a sudden they turned and the road became a little bumpier than before. After about an hour more of thought, fear, and dread, they stopped and Jared got out of the car.

**It's a shortie, I know. Just be glad for pre-planning, or else I wouldn't be able to get this chapter out when I did. *sigh* Inspiration is sluggish. Happy day of Friday 8)**


	5. Chapter 5

** HELLO MY DEARLY BELOVED READERS! Yes, yes, I love you all. Thanks for the reviews and I hope you enjoy the next installment of SDROW ROF SSOL!**

**.reveostahw yrots siht ffo tiforp yna gnikam ton ma I :remialcsiD**

**(That was backwards for those of you who don't know)**

Nick suddenly woke up, even if his eyes wouldn't open. _Okay, did I fall asleep on the couch again? No, my couch isn't this hard. Think, Nick. What was the last thing you remember doing? Catherine, crime scene, assault, needle…oh, Jared! Crap. He must have knocked me out with some sorta drug. I don't even remember getting out of the truck._

Nick forced his eyes open and found that he was only getting murky images. At the moment, all he could make out was a soft glow coming from what looked to be a table and a dark humanoid shadow in the corner.

When his eyes let up after a couple minutes, Nick squinted, still not able to see anything distinct because of the poor lighting from a candle. That's when he recalled the other person that Jared took with him. Nick screwed up his eyes again.

"Greg? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Nick. You okay?"

"Um," To be honest, Nick could barely keep his eyes open. He still wasn't even sure if his hands were attached to him or not. Nick looked past his torso and down his legs. He was shackled at his ankles with cuffs bolted into a concrete floor. The Texan seemed to be leaning against a pole and it felt like his wrists were in handcuffs, but those were police regulation. It was obvious that Jared had been planning on kidnapping Nick even before he got out of prison. "I guess I'm alright. How 'bout you?"

"You could say that," a small pause. "That was your brother, wasn't it?"

"Uh, yeah. But you were still in the lab when…_that _all went down. How'd you figure it out," Nick asked.

"Um, family resemblance."

"Hmm," It shouldn't have bothered him, it was only genetics, but Nick didn't want to look like Jared at all.

...

_**Greg's Point of View, about ten minutes earlier**_

Waking up was an arduous task. Lifting my lids was even more difficult. When I did, I had almost wished I hadn't. The first thing I saw was the inanimate Nick. He was being put on the floor by the assailant, who still had no name. I tried to get up, but in my dazed confusion I didn't notice the ropes tied around my upper body and legs. I endeavoured to distract him by saying something, anything, but all that came out was a scratchy "St-op..." He didn't even hear me.

The man quickly left and I started to look around. We seemed to be in a small wooden cabin. When I say small, I mean _really_ small. Like, nine-by-seven-feet small. There was only room for me in one corner, Nick in the corner across from me, and a small, square dinner table in the center of the room. The door was to my right and the only light came from a small candle in the middle of the table. It was in a glass jar, so that was good, but that also meant it was probably a tea light and more likely than not, it wouldn't last that long.

I realized after almost completely ridding my mind of cobwebs, that the perp' kind of looked someone I knew. Chewing on that for a few minutes, I just about missed the moan from Nick. He was starting to wake up, I guess.

That's when it hit me. The guy looked like Nick. Sure, he had blue eyes and grey hair, but when it got right down to the basics, the guy was just an older version of my co-worker. _Well, come on Greg. Similar facial structure usually means some sort of familial relations. Wasn't there a case with this guy? _I thought a little bit more while hearing Nick shift a bit. _Oh, right. The guy, Jared, I think, stabbed him. Well, this is going to be fun._

"Greg? Is that you," So, I guess that meant he was awake.

"Yeah, Nick. You okay?"

"Um," he started looking down at himself. He looked a bit disorientated. Maybe he was drugged. "I guess I'm alright. How 'bout you?"

"You could say that," I hesitated, a bit unsure about how to word it without being offensive. "That was your brother, wasn't it?"

"Uh, yeah. But you were still in the lab when…_that _all went down. How'd you figure it out," a perplexed Nick peered at me from the floor.

"Um, family resemblance." _Idiot!_ Like Nick would want to ever _resemble_ the guy who stabbed him.

"Hmm," was all he said, which asserted my feelings that we should probably stop this conversation before it really started.

Before I could get another word out of my mouth, though, the door opened. Jared walked in, framed with the sweltering Nevada desert midday. The glare that Nick gave the man could have made a rabid raccoon take cover. Jared smiled evilly.

"Hello, Nick. I'm glad to see that you're awake," he looked over at me, and walked a few steps. My face must have held some sort of raw emotion, I really can't remember, because his grin got even wider. It seems that he did a lot of grinning. "And your friend is, too. I don't believe we've met, but I'm _sure _that Nick has told you _nothing _about me," Jared turned to look at his brother. "Have you?"

"Do you really think that I'd want to talk about you, Jared? I mean, really. The last memory I have of you is eight years ago, sitting on top of me and cleaning your knife," Nick said this with so much venom in his voice I half thought Jared might collapse dead right there. My prayers weren't answered, unfortunately.

"Ah, yes. One of the best days of my life," Jared seemed lost in his recollection, while I was lost in complete disbelief. _This, _I concluded. _Is not how any brother should be._

**And there you have it. Chapter 5. Please review. I have nothing else to say. I'm gonna shut up now. REVIEW...sorry…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay. I've got some bad news for you guys. This sentence, right here, was meant to waste about four seconds of your time. I actually have nothing to say. Except…**

**I DO NOT OWN CSI**

**There. I'm done 8)

* * *

**

_**About two hours after the kidnapping…**_

Ray Langston was meandering down the hallways of the lab when Catherine caught up to him. She had a file in her hand and was a little out of breath, telling the dark skinned man that she had a case and had also been looking for him.

"Ray, you and I have a 420 and two 418s* at 3803 East Sahara Avenue**." Catherine said as she bent over with her hands on her knees to breathe.

A confused look passed over the newest CSI's face. "Wait, wasn't Nick and Greg at that crime scene? I thought it was just an assault."

Catherine stood up with a bit of panic in her eyes. "I know Ray, I know. But it neither of them were the ones who called it in. It was a responding police officer who went back to check on his partner when he didn't answer his radio. Nick and Greg weren't there."

* * *

When Catherine and Langston got to the scene, they were met by Brass. He had a haunted look in his eyes that said he'd seen this happen too many times before. Glancing down into his notes, the detective got started.

"One officer down. He was waiting on CSI as they finished up the scene as his partner was called out on another crime, and Sanders and Stokes are nowhere to be found."

Brass licked his lips and looked up to meet the supervisor's eyes. There wasn't much he could say in the way of comfort, he was feeling the same way. Tormented, guilty, helpless. What he wouldn't give for a bit of scotch. "What would you like to do, Catherine?"

She sighed. "Well, I'm not handing this over to Days, if that's what you're asking. We'll call Sara over and see what we can find out. Ray, you get started."

Langston nodded and left to head under the tape, while Catherine whipped out her phone. She was just about to speed-dial Sara when Brass pulled her aside by the arm.

"Catherine, you're gonna need a bit of help," Whispered the captain.

"Jim, we've found kidnapped victims before. We found Nick," Catherine snapped, a bit irritated at the prospect of someone else coming in.

Brass eyeballed her. "Look, I don't like any of this either, but check the facts Catherine. You have three CSIs. In Nick's case, you had five. I'm not saying you aren't capable, but we would have a better chance of finding them if we get some help. We've done that before, too, and it worked out. Sara's still here."

Catherine sighed again and dialed. "Okay Jim, I'll bend. I sure hope you have some contacts because…" she was cut off with the "Hello?" of Sara. Catherine walked past Brass. "You need to come here right away…"

_**

* * *

Nick's Point of View**_

Helpless and hopeless, I waited for my demon of a brother. He had said that he was out to get some food '_wink wink' _and to stay put, as if we had any choice. To guess, that was about two hours ago, but it'd be a joy if he didn't come back. To be completely truthful, I'd rather die of dehydration than face him again. The first time, after I'd woken up, all that so-called courage was bull. Sure I was a lot more than pissed at him, but I was scared out of my mind because I knew what he could do, and I really didn't want Greg in that.

Speaking of Greg, he hadn't talked for the entirety of those few hours. We'd been sitting in silence, so I decided that it would be worth speaking up. Not to check if he was okay (no one in this situation would be 'okay'), but just to make sure he didn't get any strange ideas.

"Greg," He looked up. "What are you thinking about?"

He gave me a bitter smile. "Oh, nothing."

I continued to stare at him after he cast his gaze past his knees. It was more than nothing, that much I could tell. He was glowering at the floor, tensed, as if the dirty concrete could yield answers but was choosing not to. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong than this situation already was.

"Greg," I said again. "Come on, man. Tell me."

He sighed and I had a feeling I didn't want to know. "I can't help but think that, to Jared, I'm just an extra. I mean, look at me. I'm strapped in a chair being held only in rope while you're shackled to the floor."

I paused, digesting the information. "So?" It was a redundant question.

"Nick, you and I both know that the second he feels the heat, _I'm _going to be the first one to go. He doesn't need me. His entire focus is on you."

Greg looked pretty desperate, and for a good reason. Things weren't looking too good right now.

* * *

Ray walked down the hall to his supervisor's office with the appearance of ease, though he was anything but. Apparently something like this had happened previously, back before he was even considering being a CSI.

Pondering that, Ray was just going past Catherine's room when he heard a loud yell.

"What! Why wasn't I notified of this?" Langston crept into the doorway. "Gil Grissom no longer works here, yes, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a supervisor now," Another pause and an exasperated sigh. "Yes. Yes of course. Thank-you. Goodbye." Catherine hung up the phone, put her palm to her forehead and closed her eyes.

Langston crept into the office, a little apprehensive. "Catherine? Something the matter?"

She looked up, startled and brought her hand down. Then she sighed. "Yeah. Yeah there is. This guy, Jared, got eight years in prison for attempted murder. I called the prison just now, and they said that he had gotten out early a couple months ago on good behaviour."

Ray nodded. "Okay, but how does this pertain to the case?"

The Grave-Shift supervisor hesitated, and then dived in. "Jared is Nick's brother. In 2002, he stabbed Nick when they were having 'bonding time'. We suspected that Jared only came to Vegas to try to kill him. Apparently the prison phoned here to let someone know of the release, they asked for Gil Grissom and couldn't get a hold of him. Then they decided that it wouldn't be worth trying to find his supervisor as of now."

Ray acquiesced to this, but still had a burning question. "What else makes you think that he is our main suspect? Don't you think that maybe he went back to Texas to be with his family, maybe to make amends?"

Catherine's anger flared. Not at her junior, but at the absurdity of it all. "No. First of all, the Stokes wouldn't give it to him, even if he wanted it. Second, I just talked to Nick's parents and they haven't seen Jared since his arrest."

"So, we're operating under the pretense that Jared has both Greg and Nick at a hidden location?"

"Yes, Brass has issued a BOLO on his car. We'll know when he knows."

* * *

Jim Brass looked at the totaled black truck abandoned in the ditch desolately. "Catherine's not gonna like this."

**

* * *

* 420-murder**

** 418-missing person(s)**

**** 3803 East Sahara Avenue-this is an ACTUAL LOCATION that took at least an hour to find and I definitely encourage you to look up 8)**

**Just to warn you, I probably won't be updating this early in the week again (I can't tell the future, so don't hold me to it) because of my busyness. I can definitely update anywhere between Thursday and Sunday, so expect chapters then (will not be publishing anything else this week, sorry)**

**This is a bit of a long chapter, and to give you a hint it has foreshadowed a bit of a, ermm, something…a few somethings…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okeedokee then. I'm back. So now, because I'm a lazy bum and I procrastinate (if you couldn't tell from my AN a few weeks ago), I've fallen behind on typing. I used to be ahead and at the moment I'm barely keeping up (reading too much Nick angst I suppose X3).**

**What? I don't own CSI? That's news to me…**

* * *

Jared came in storming like a bad day on Neptune.

He started by flipping the only unused chair over, red in the face. The elder Stokes then stalked over to his brother and violently kicked him in the side, which in turn knocked the wind out of Nick with a puff.

"Do you know what you've cost me?" Another kick, a grunt, and Jared was still, but not done. "Huh? Do you truly understand all the grief?"

Nick wasn't out either, though trying to curl in on himself while being restricted by the cuffs and the pole. "Need I remind you that you're the one who brought us here?" he panted. That earned him a nice size-ten bruise to the jaw.

"Don't you _dare _try to turn this on me! You shouldn't have even been _born. _Mom had said that after Lizzie, she was done. Done! Then you had to come along and ruin _everything!_" Jared yelled and Nick had to bite back a satirical reply, not that he could even say anything. There wasn't much air left in his lungs, though that didn't stop the next kick, and the one after that. Jared wasn't thinking clearly, so decided that the best way to end all of this was by suffocation. Putting a boot on Nick's chest, he pushed. Hard.

Nick started to gasp. First, a few kicks with sturdy hiking boots, then one of said hiking boots was planted firmly on his chest, sufficiently making any means of reprieve from the pressure on his lungs and spine impossible.

All Greg could do was watch with rapt, albeit anxious, attention. Generally, he tried to avoid confrontation, like anyone with a bit of sense, so both of the Stokes' were a bit surprised when the forgotten member of the room shouted a "Jared!"

The man (if he could really be called a man) turned to face Greg slowly, taking his boot with him. Nick immediately bent over as far as possible to recover any air he could, whilst Jared straightened and projected a cool demeanor that was completely opposite from his mood minutes before. "What do you want?" he asked, taking a step.

Putting all agitation aside, Greg leveled himself as well and tried to put on an air of defiance and general curiosity. A strange mix, but he hoped it would work. "Is there something wrong with you?"

Taken aback from the seemingly brutal honesty, Jared stood rather dumbly. He hadn't been expecting much of an answer, much less a question to his question. So he said the first thing that came to his mind. "What?"

Greg almost sighed in relief; his bait had attracted the fish. "I asked if there was something wrong with you." Jared stiffened and Greg took the chance to go on. "I mean, really, what kind of brother stabs his own flesh-and-blood, then kidnaps him with his co-worker? It doesn't make any sense to me."

Nick had, by this time, nearly recovered. Still not enough to talk, but enough to send fearful glances in Greg's direction, which were ignored. Jared didn't even realize, not with his back turned, so he stood with narrowed eyes. "How would you know what having a brother's like, hmm? I've read you're file, you have no siblings whatsoever. Don't look at me like that, I've got lots of family in law enforcement. Hacking is easy. Anyway-siblings? They're a pain. You're a lucky one." He took another cautious step forward.

"Still, I don't know many people who would act like that to another human _being_, much less their kin."

Nick couldn't take it anymore. "Greg, stop." he pleaded with a scratchy voice

A step from Jared with a menacing look. "I'd listen to him if I were you. You're not exactly in control here."

Greg just stared at him searchingly, looking for a reason to this madness. "I still don't understand-"

"You don't need to understand! This isn't something that you should be concerned with!" Jared roared.

The younger CSI didn't stop at that. "But I am. I'm still here, Jared. I'm tied up here, too. I'm in almost as deep as Nick is and-"

"Well," Jared growled, taking the final step towards him. "I've had enough of you."

A large hand slithered around Greg's throat and gripped with a force. He scrambled and battled for any precious oxygen he could get, which wasn't enough.

"Jared, stop. Don't kill him. Stop!" Nick begged. He saw dazed brown eyes slip shut.

His older brother only laughed and let Greg's limp head fall. "You've got a twig for a friend, Nick." And walked out of the steamy cabin, leaving Nick to worry over Greg's health. If he had any left.

* * *

_**Jared's Point of View, earlier…**_

I hate a lot of things, I suppose. I could have filled one of my journals. Scratch that, I could have filled quite a few of them. And cops would be on the first page of the first book, especially rookies. Rookies of anything have a special place-not in my heart, per say. More like my bowels. And this guy was in the grit of it, waltzing up to my window as if he had any more experience than a magpie with a shiny tin deputy badge. But I had to roll down my window, anyway, if only for the sake of normalcy, and turn on the infamous Texas charm.

"Hello, officer." I said with a cheesy smile.

He grinned back uneasily. Oops, too much charm. "Hello sir. I'd like to inform you-" Oh, give it a rest! "-that you've been going a full ten miles over the speed limit and I'm afraid that I'll have to give you a ticket. License and registration, please."

In my head I opened the glove compartment and shot my gun in his face, then drove off into the sunset. All I wanted to do was get a burger at McDonalds and a bucket of ice-water to douse my, err, 'friends' before they dehydrated and died without my permission. Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was, so I handed over my fake ID and the other required document.

The officer wrote down my information, studied my picture for a moment, then scrunched up his face. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

I froze, realizing who the greenhorn could have mistaken me for. Didn't the Son of Sam get caught with a parking ticket? I lowered my voice a bit. "No, I don't think so."

He still seemed a bit unsure. "Are you a hundred percent on that? I swear I've seen you before…"

"No, sir. I've never met you in my life, and I remember a face." I said smoothly with a faint hope he wouldn't make the connection.

He sighed, ripped off a ticket and I knew I was off the hook. "Ok, then. Be safe and careful with that foot of yours."

As soon as he had walked past my back window, I drove off. I'd lost my appetite and figured that the two at my cabin could wait a bit longer for water. I was too pissed off to care, anyway. _I blame Nick. It's his fault he got himself into this predicament. It's his fault he's got friends on the force. He's really gonna get it now._

* * *

**How'd you like it? I really don't know what I think about this chapter. Maybe it could have been done better, what do I know? Questions, comments, concerns…TIPS…press that little blue button. Both signed and anonymous reviews accepted 8)**

**PS-check out a one-shot of mine if you haven't already: Avenged. Corny, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! I am truly saddened and sorry that I took that totally avoidable and uncalled for hiatus, but I'll keep this A/N short so you can get right onto reading 8)**

**Disclaimer: Generally, I'm glad I don't own the show. It'd probably suck :P**

* * *

_**About the time Jared was getting his speeding ticket…**_

Catherine, Brass, and Ecklie were seated in the undersheriff's office, pretty much at a stand-still as far as meetings go. They had been conversing Brass' contact for another temporary CSI, which had fallen through. Apparently there were better things to process in Hawaii. Whether or not they were important crime scenes, well, 'the contact' had been a little hazy on that aspect.

"So then we'll give you someone on days." Ecklie suggested. "It's not really that big of a deal, Catherine."

"Not that big of a deal!" She exclaimed incredulously, leaning out of her chair. "You can't expect that one day-shift CSI is going to cover for two of my guys_. _That doesn't make any sense!"

Brass looked on with semi-amusement, semi-irritation while the undersheriff gave Catherine a mildly hurt look. "Are you implying that day-shift has any less skill than-"

"Oh, you _know _that's true, Conrad!" The supervisor gave him a vicious glare. "Days have _never _been able to measure up to grave, even now! You have to give me-"

"Okay, okay." Brass stood up, exasperation won out. The tension had been so high in the lab that they were wasting time arguing, but that would get them nowhere. "I get it, no one's going to be able to sufficiently cover for Greg and Nick. And Ecklie? She's right. Case-wise, the grave-shift has always had better skills as a team than days, but we need to come to a compromise. Catherine needs all the help she can get."

Ecklie rubbed his face and head in that aggravating-Ecklie-way of his. "I can only spare one person, Catherine. Days is already stretched thin as it is, covering your shift's other cases. They're tired, crabby, and frankly, they're worried. Don't expect too much."

Her face fell slightly and she got up to leave. She had run out of excuses, but not for long. "Alright. Send them over as soon as possible."

Once Catherine had exited, Brass gave the undersheriff a look. "You know, Conrad, I wouldn't get on her bad side, especially now."

He only sighed in response and shuffled some papers. Brass huffed and left.

* * *

Sara and Ray were sitting on their haunches, peering underneath the abandoned truck when they heard a loud _snap _come from the door. Turning on their heels, they found a platinum blonde standing in the frame chewing her gum with a slightly bored look on her face. She couldn't have been too much more than twenty five-fresh from the ranks.

Sara gave a look to the former doctor-_Greaaaat. A newbie_-and stood up to greet her.

"Are you the, uh, CSI Ecklie sent over?" She asked with an all-too-casual glance down to Langston.

She rolled her eyes and cocked her hip to the right, kit dangling by the tips of her manicured fingers. "Yup."

This was nearly the last straw. Two of her closest friends had been kidnapped by some sort of psycho, and Ecklie gives them a tender-footed CSI with an attitude problem. Babysitting was the last thing on their personal _and_ professional agenda.

But Sara coerced a smile to her face and forced herself to be polite until she was pushed past her limit, which, unfortunately for the noob, wasn't that far off. "What's your name?"

"Taylor Forsyth."

"Sara Sidle. You can start by fingerprinting the inside of the truck."

To this, Taylor completed another eye-roll and walked farther into the room. She then pulled out some fingerprinting powder from that silver case of hers and began with the steering wheel.

After a few minutes, Langston peeked up from his post at the grill of the Toyota to check on her. She had decided not to wear gloves and had now placed her hand on the dashboard, which she was currently printing.

He stood up with a bit of alarm. "Um Taylor," She looked up with a scowl. "Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?"

"Look, I don't need some old guy telling me what to do; I graduated kindergarten. I don't have to wear gloves and you know it."

Most people didn't have the skill to get on Raymond Langston's bad side. He considered himself a pretty laid-back guy, but it's those laid-back ones you need to watch out for. When he was passionate about something, or if someone discovered one of the very few things that could tick him off, Ray could get aggressive. And an obstacle that was getting in the way of an already difficult and emotionally draining case was one of those things that included both pieces of criteria. So he stalked around to the passenger's side.

"No, _you _look! Has anyone told you about this case? Did Ecklie happen to give you any details? Two men I greatly respect are being held by a mad-man with a grudge. This truck may be one of the only things we have to go by and if you contaminate it in _any way, _I will _personally _hold you responsible if we don't find this guy or are unable to convict him for lack of evidence. Now, you can either put some gloves on or step out of the truck."

Langston's glare could have melted all the metal on the vehicle if it hadn't been directed at Taylor. Without looking away from the enraged man, she carefully took some latex gloves from her pocket and slid them on. Ray returned to his work.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Taylor spoke up again, albeit diffidently. "Is, uh…is this the case with those two missing CSIs? One has a brother in the system?"

Sara paused for a second, then kept up with her inspection of the grill with Langston. "Yeah." was all she said.

"I've heard that he's had a lot of crap to deal with over the years." Taylor replied quietly.

At this, the brunette closed her eyes and let her head fall forward, elbows resting on her knees. "Yeah." Her voice was a mixture of sadness and exhaustion, enough of which to make Langston glance at Sara with question.

* * *

_**So this is FILLER! Filler night…er, day…um…whatever-time-it-happens-to-be-in-whatever-time-zone-you-happen-to-live-in.**_

**That was my Michael Jackson tribute. About, what, two years too late? Oh well. THANK YOU AND…**

**I'm not gonna write that again.**


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